Sacrificing for the Greater Good
by thinktink2
Summary: Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the people you love. It doesn't mean you can't use that to collect on it later, though. Ficlet in the "Coming to Terms" Series, occurring some time after "Reaping what was Sown" and referencing (just a tiny bit) "Jealousy Becomes You," "You CAN put a price on an education" and "Proud supporter of the Arts."


A bit o' fluff that hit me. Part of the "Coming to Terms" Universe, taking place sometime after "Reaping what was Sown" and hinting lightly at "Jealousy Becomes you" and a few others. Feedback is always appreciated.

%%%%

"Why am I here?"

"Stop whining."

"You are going to owe me so big for this."

"I don't owe you anything. He's your son, too."

"Hank was just telling me about something he read in _GQ_ , or maybe it was _Esquire_ -"

"Oh, no. Don't think you're going to use this as reasons for me to grant you favors in bed. I didn't have this baby alone."

"You know, normally I don't bring up the circumstances of Kelly's conception, but maybe this a good time to remind you I wasn't exactly a knowing party in that particular instance."

Adalind fixes him with an icy glare.

"You were a knowing party when he was born and you chose to be a part of his life, and you were a knowing party when you agreed that we wanted the best for our son, and his education is one of the most important parts of it."

"I think _agreed_ is a strong word. More like, ' _manipulated. C_ _oerced. Brow-beaten. Strong armed. Compelled. Bullied. Forced into going along with it_ ' might be more accurate."

"Oh, hardly," she sniffs, "Were we not both at the same interview? I recall you going along with it just fine-I even remember you trying to hurry the enrollment process along."

"You mean _after_ we spent all day for an interview and then hours filling out the enrollment _tome?_ When you took ruthless advantage of my Grimmness for your own nefarious purposes to manipulate the director into admitting him early into a school with a two year wait-list that I didn't want him to attend anyway?"

" _Grimmness?"_ She repeats incredulously. "Nefarious? I saw an opportunity for a superior education and took it," she says primly. "When he's valedictorian with a full scholarship to Stanford or Princeton or Harvard, you'll thank me. Your son has benefited greatly from that decision."

"Hmph," Nick snorts, not about to admit she's right, though they both know it. "At least somebody has," Nick says. "I don't know why his continued education means my continued suffering."

"You're a parent. It's what you do for your children," Adalind says.

"How are you suffering?"

"I have to sit here and listen to you," she retorts.

Nick flicks a flinty eye her way but says nothing else for a moment. He's seated in a metal folding chair, arms crossed over his chest, and an ankle resting over his knee, having come straight from work - as usual for one of these things - Adalind seated primly beside him. She's also come from work, dressed immaculately in a pencil skirt and a fitted jacket, looking posh, and polished, and every bit the career woman. It's stark contrast to many of the other women who enter, though he supposes with the largely affluent families whose children attended the schools, it really wasn't all that surprising to see many of the mothers dressed more socially. He watches the room fill up, summoning a polite smile whenever someone spots Adalind and calls out a greeting, but most of the parents he's never met through careful avoidance measures that usually succeeded in getting him out of various non-essential parent meetings and conferences, with rare exception. He does recognize a handful of couples here or there, names vaguely familiar, but most he has no idea what their names, or their children's are, and he doesn't particularly care to learn them, either. Adalind knows most everyone, it seems, or everyone knows her, judging by the number of people who nod or call out a greeting to her, and he figures should he need to know who someone is he can just ask her.

He does however know the name of one set of parents in particular and he cringes when he spies them enter the room and slouches low in his seat in an admittedly pathetic and undoubtedly futile effort to avoid detection.

"What are you doing?" Adalind says, looking at him askance when she notices his behavior.

"Shhhh!" he says and her brow furrows in confusion and perhaps a touch of disbelief.

She glances around the room, trying to spot whatever has him behaving this way, but honestly, the source is hard to miss when it's wearing no doubt this spring's latest loudest Gucci, or Versace, or some other ridiculously gauche Italian designer's clothes, and has every single over-dyed hair perfectly arrayed and has a high thin voice that he likens to the sound of hellhounds baying.

Adalind's eyes alight on Valencia and she heaves a sigh stoically.

"You owe me so big," Nick mutters again. "I'm photocopying that article Hank has."

"Well, see, now you're truly not the only one who'll be suffering now, are you happy?" she replies.

"You knew she was going to be here," he accuses.

"You might have reasoned that out for yourself, _detective_ ," she retorts. "She does have children who attend the school, and this meeting is required for all parents to attend."

He did reason it out, thank you very much. It's a large part of why he tried to think of every excuse possible to get out of it, and why he hates attending anything related to the school since it increases the likelihood he'll run into her. And since she's constantly heading up some committee or organizing some fundraiser for the school there's ample opportunities for her to ruin his day.

"You might want to limber up. I'm not going to go easy."

Adalind slides her eyes to him crossly for a moment. "Keep dreaming, buddy. Just because I'm your wife, doesn't mean that I'm your sex slave, who'll do whatever you want."

"You didn't seem to mind it that one time when you were," he replies. "In fact, I think that was your idea."

She juts her chin forward slightly and replies in a haughty tone, "That was a special occasion. For your birthday."

"I'm pretty sure we did that in November."

"Well, then, obviously I was just trying to give you something to be thankful for, for Thanksgiving."

"I was," he replies. "Judging by your response so were you."

She eyes him again with another cross look, but she can't quite pull it off since the corners of her mouth are twitching like she's fighting a smile.

He thinks if he shows her the article she won't be so resistant to what he has in mind anyway. She usually isn't. He's distracted from thoughts of Adalind wanton and filled with abandon by Valencia's shrill voice.

"Adalind! Oh, and Detective Burkhardt, isn't it? How nice of you to join us," she adds condescendingly and Nick summons a smile from the far reaches of his amiability.

"Valencia," Adalind returns politely. "How are you?"

Nick stiffens, fighting an eye roll, as it's obvious Valencia was just waiting for an invite to expound on her fabulous life and now Nick's stuck listening to it. He notices her husband, who was with her when she entered the room, is nowhere around and Nick looks over the room, searching for him as he tries to tune out Valencia's response.

"Oh, my goodness, where to begin. I've been dreadfully busy, as you can imagine, what with Remmy's cello concert—he's playing for the Portland Arts council next month, only 14! Can you believe it?—Braham's swimming meets, and Savvy's dance recital—she's performing with her brother and Madame Fanny's ballet company—she's the star, can you believe it?—not to mention, of course, trying to keep up with the women's shelter—we're hosting a benefit in two weeks, I do hope you'll come. Invitations went out a month ago—and Blake's been nominated for an award at St. Joe's—I mean, really, I'm exhausted! I don't know how I keep it all together, really," Valencia says conspiratorially.

"Sounds like a lot," Adalind agrees. "Well, I don't want to keep—"

"Have you met my husband? Dr. Stewardson, the head of Obstetrics at St. Joseph's? He delivered both of Dr. Ansheimler's children." She has to remember that yes, they've met, Nick thinks. They were all there, after all, at the interview from hell. "Oh, where is he?" Valencia interrupts, looking around the room.

Yes, where? Nick thinks. He's pulled a commendable disappearing act just moments after making an appearance, and Nick wonders what his secret is.

"He's always so busy. Probably on the phone with the hospital," she says with a strained chuckle. "How about you, dear? How have you been? How's your little one? A son, isn't that right?"

"Kelly, yes," Adalind begins, smiling, always happy to talk up any of her children, no matter who it's with. "He's—"

"Don't you have a daughter attending as well now?" Valencia says.

"Yes, she's—"

"She's in the same grade as Braham. A very…unique…little girl, I hear," Valencia says and Nick's gaze sharpens from his perusal of the room back to Valencia. Adalind's expression changes slightly, too, and he's sure they're both wondering what Valencia's heard about Diana to make her remark so.

"Yes, she's very special," Adalind agrees neutrally.

"Of course, all children are, aren't they," Valencia coos. "My Remmy is trying to decide on Julliard in three years, can you believe it? Oh, don't worry, my dear. With a little application I'm sure your son and daughter will be doing great things, too."

Nick eyes her thoughtfully, wondering if his son will possess the ability to telekinetically throw Valencia through a window or if he'll have to utilize some not insignificant brute force, or perhaps a combination of the two? What will it look like?

"That's…wonderful," Adalind says stiffly. "You say Braham and Diana are in the same grade?"

"Yes, Diana, that's her name," Valencia says. "Yes, I'm surprised. She hasn't mentioned Braham? He's one of the brightest students in the class, in the top ten percent. He's treasurer of the student council, and president of the performing arts committee, and vice president of the archery club. He's absolutely brilliant. I'm sure he's one of the kids she probably looks up to."

"Didn't her last report card have Diana ranked as number one in her class?" Nick interrupts. "Didn't Ansheimler say she's on course to be valedictorian by the time she graduates?"

Valencia glances at Nick critically as Adalind smiles a little more brightly. Granted Diana still has several years until she graduates but she's incredibly intelligent and driven, much like her mother, and he has no doubt she'll finish at the top of her class.

"Yes, she's very bright. We're very proud of her. She's so modest, too," Adalind adds a tad pointedly, though it's lost on Valencia.

"Oh, there's Blake!" She says, not acknowledging or hearing the remark. "BLAKE!" she shouts and Nick winces. So does her husband, he notes, and he feels a pang of sorrow for him.

Was his wife always like this? Surely this type of annoying neurotic behavior was honed and cultured with the introduction and subsequent birth of each of their children and their deeper involvement with high society over time.

Was this what he had to look forward to with Adalind if they stayed involved with the school?

"Come, I want you to meet some friends of mine," she says and Blake shuffles dutifully over to his wife, holding what looks like a cocktail in his hand, and Nick glances around in surprise, looking for the bar. They serve alcohol at a school meeting? No wonder everyone's smiling. Blake smiles at a few faces that no doubt are looking at him with the same sympathy Nick's feeling for him, given his choice in wife. Nick finds it surprising, that in her hierarchy of people she knows, that Valencia would consider he and Adalind friends of hers, though the term is probably largely meaningless to her, and idly wonders what enemies look like to Valencia. Maybe he doesn't want to know. She's seems a capable adversary, and she and Adalind have worked together on various projects and committees—and butted heads together enough—that he decides he probably doesn't ever want to know.

Whether Valencia realizes it or not, she's lucky that Adalind's without powers; though, he reflects wistfully, Adalind in all her hexenbiest glory versus a pugnacious Valencia would be a wonderful thing to witness, and would likely cut down on any unnecessary school functions and social activities they'd be forced to attend together.

"Blake, this is Adalind and her husband, the illustrious Detective Burkhardt," she says and Blake smiles congenially and holds out his hand to shake.

"Of course, I remember Adalind," he says and Nick's gaze focuses on the illustrious Dr. Blake Stewardson as Adalind returns his smile with a polite one of her own as she takes his proffered hand. He actually kisses the back of it and Nick's gaze sharpens further in disbelief before Blake releases her and holds out his hand for Nick.

"Detective," Blake says, and it's tempting to remind Dr. Stewardson that he's got a gun and he's authorized to use it, but no doubt Adalind would think that response inappropriate or rude, and beneath him.

"Doctor," Nick says shaking his hand with an extra firm grip.

"I was just telling them about your award," Valencia says to him and Stewardson ducks his head in a faux show of modesty and chuckles.

"Honestly, I was as surprised as everyone else when I was nominated. I've done some excellent work it's true, but I don't pay attention to things like that," he says and Nick's sympathy for him starts to wither, deciding Valencia and Blake are better suited for each other than he wants to admit to.

"Congratulations," Adalind says politely. "Speaking of awards, Nick and his partner were honored with an award from the mayor's office last week," Adalind adds. "They solved a very big case."

"Oh yes, that's right. You work in narcotics?" Blake asks, looking over Nick's attire curiously. Blake's dressed in a pair of black, silk trousers, with perfect creases, and a coral shirt with a coordinating tie, and suit jacket. Since he came directly from the precinct, Nick's dressed in his usual uniform for a day of solving (wesen) crime: a pair of dark denim jeans, his scuffed and worn work boots, an un-tucked, checked, button up shirt, and a gray, lightweight jacket. His gun is holstered on his usual side, as is his badge, and both are visible.

"Robbery/homicide," Nick replies, smirking slightly, not in the least bothered by the assumption, and perhaps the subtle put down.

Adalind is though, and given her remark about his and Hank's work, he's reminded of her and Valencia's competitive natures. Valencia evidently often finds the incredibly capable and determined Adalind a threat, judging by some of her remarks and behavior, and Adalind finds it insulting to insinuate that she, or her children, or Nick, aren't fit or don't belong in the high society that Valencia travels in and the school forces them to rub elbows with.

Nick could honestly care less. He was never part of that world and never wanted to be, though Adalind frequents the elite still in her career as a corporate lawyer for the biggest firm in Portland, and the many years before she settled down to a low-key life with him. She doesn't seem the worse for it or regretful of that choice now - in fact she's welcomed the change and the opportunity to focus on the things that matter to her: her children and her family and her relationship with Nick, but though she's mostly made her peace with letting it go with little regrets, it's hard for her to part with it completely.

"Oh, right, yes, that was it," Blake says. "I thought I recognized you from somewhere. Your picture was in the paper, wasn't it?"

"We also all met at the interview for the school," Adalind adds.

"Detective Burkhardt was in the charity auction a few years ago. He received some of our higher bids in the auction. We raised a lot of money that year," Valencia informs her husband, eyeing Nick thoughtfully. "He was one of the finalists for the calendar. Detective, you _must_ participate in this year's upcoming auction. The money raised goes to such a good cause. I'm sure you can agree that the world, and Portland, would be a sad place to live in without the arts. Our dedication to it makes Portland one of the most incredible places in the world. I do hope to see your name on the registrar again."

"I'll think about it," Nick says with a plastic smile. _Fuck, no,_ he thinks. He had done the auction strictly as a favor to Adalind, who had been in charge of recruiting.

"I've almost got Blake here convinced to join us this year," she adds with a smile at her husband and Blake grins, though not as enthusiastically. He also looks at Adalind as though gauging how much this might interest her.

Adalind raises her eyebrows politely at Valencia and changes the subject.

"Well, I don't want to keep you from mingling," she says. "I'm sure others would like the opportunity to catch up with you before we begin."

"Yeah, we don't want to look like we're hogging all your attention," Nick adds.

"Oh, nonsense," Valencia dismisses.

"You know I think I see Marissa Shrimpton looking over here at you," Adalind says. Nick has no idea which one is Marissa but he nods in agreement.

"Oh, dear Marissa. I put her in charge of this year's luncheon and she's lost without me. If it's not one thing it's another and she can hardly make a decision for herself. Really, I should have done it myself, but I can't see how I can find time for one more thing with everything I have on my plate." She eyes Adalind, considering her for a moment. "It's too bad you were unable to hand off your case to a junior partner."

"Yes, it's terrible," Adalind agrees with a straight face. "I'm up to my ears in depositions and motions to file, and then, of course, there's taking care of Nick and the kids. But, I don't have to tell you how busy a mother's life can be."

Valencia makes a noise of agreement and after a few more minutes of polite conversation, moves off with a reluctant Blake in tow, and Adalind breathes a sigh of relief.

"What case is she referring to?"

"Frankel and Schoenberg."

"Didn't you give Lane that case?" Nick asks her.

"Yes, but I'm not going to tell _her_ that," she says. "Who do you think will be spearheading her luncheon while she nitpicks everything I do every step of the way?"

Nick grimaces. He looks at Adalind, considering.

"How much is it worth to you for me not to let that information slip out," he asks, thinking he might be able to leverage this to his advantage by excusing himself from tonight and perhaps some future events if he's lucky.

Adalind swivels her head from her survey of the room to meet his gaze as she purses her lips.

"Nick! I'm so sorry," she says and he smirks. "I didn't realize you were dying to defend your hottest civil servant title," and the grin slides off his face. "You know, I've still got the email with all your entry information from last time. It's no problem to register you again. All I have to do is click send."

Touche.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't test me," she warns.

"You remember what happened last time," he reminds her.

Adalind's mouth turns up coyly.

"Do I ever. That was fun, wasn't it?" she asks him with a wicked grin, sliding a hand covertly along his thigh.

Some of it was, he thinks, shifting slightly in his seat.

"You could hardly walk," he says in a lowered voice, mindful of the parents circulating around them, trying not to squirm, as her fingers tease along his jeans. "Or talk," he adds, smile widening.

"I wasn't the only gasping for air," she reminds him.

No, she wasn't.

"If you liked that, I think you'll really like that thing in the magazine," he says and she gives him a look. He smiles winsomely at her, knowing she's not immune to his charms, and she shakes her head with the hint of a smile.

"We'll see," she says as Nick's phone goes off. "If that's Hank 'calling you out to a crime scene,'" she flashes air quotes, with a stern look at him, "You can tell him the body will just have to wait."

 _One_ time he used a fake crime scene to try and get out of something...

"A murderer could be on the loose," he says. "Time is of the essence."

"You leave me here alone with the Stewardsons and you'll find out how right you are. And you'll never live to realize the reality of that article," she threatens.

"You're only hurting yourself," he tells her.

"That won't be the only person I'm hurting before the night's done if you leave me here alone."

"Don't tease," he says mockingly, pressing the answer call button and turning his attention to Hank.

"What's up?"

"Are you still at that thing with Adalind?"

"Yeah, but I can-"

Adalind snatches the phone from him.

"No, he can't. Not for another hour, maybe two, at least. I'm sure Wu, or even Sean can help you piece it together until Nick's free."

"You know, I was solving crimes all on my own before Nick," he hears Hank say insultingly.

"Good. So, we both agree you don't need Nick."

"Give me that," Nick says, snatching the phone back. "Hank?"

"I mean, how does she think I made detective?" he continues to Nick. "You can tell her I earned my stripes. I didn't sleep my way into a promotion, unlike some."

 _No way I'm telling her that,_ Nick thinks. Especially since some literary-inspired hanky-panky is within reach.

"I heard that," Adalind says with an indignant gasp.

"Good," Hank returns.

"I haven't slept my way into a promotion since I was a third-year law student," she adds with a haughty whisper. Nick gives her a look.

"Fine. A first-year associate."

He raises his eyebrow.

"Fourth-year. I'm not like that anymore," she adds, a touch defensively, and Nick wisely says nothing. Adalind uses the opportunity to change the subject.

"Oh, hey, Hank, did you want to do that civil servant charity thing again?" she asks loudly as Nick tries to shift the phone away from her. "Ask him if he's going to register again."

"I'm not asking him that," Nick says, mostly because he doesn't want any reason to attend that thing whatsoever, not even as support for his friends.

"Tell her I'm thinking about it," Hank says.

Or soon to be ex-friend, he amends.

"He says no way in hell he's doing that again," Nick says to Adalind and she pouts, before brightening.

"That girl he likes, Chandra, is volunteering for some of the host duties."

"Chandra?" Hank says with interest.

"He says nice try, but he's not falling for that."

"Man, you haven't seen her," he says to Nick. "She's a fine, sweet-looking woman."

"He's not looking for wife number five," Nick adds, mostly as a reminder for Hank's benefit.

"Who said anything about marrying her?" they both ask at the same time and Nick rolls his eyes.

"I just thought it would give him the opportunity to spend a little time with her and see if they hit it off," Adalind says.

"Yeah, right," Nick adds. "I'm sure playing matchmaker is a nice bonus," he continues, "but we both know you have ulterior motives."

"Goodness, you're so suspicious, detective," she says disapprovingly.

"Not as much as he should be," Hank replies in his ear. "You still married her."

Nick turns his attention to his conversation with his partner and asks in an annoyed tone, "Do we have a body, or what?"

"No, I was just calling to see where you put the report on the Schumacher homicide. Captain wants to see it."

It was under a pile of files on his desk, but Hank probably already searched through the labels, not realizing he'd stuck it in another file, Wendorff, in his haste to tidy up his desk before he had to head to the school to meet Adalind.

"I found it!" he hears Wu exclaim in the background just as he's offering to come down to the station and show him rather than try to explain, what is, admittedly very easy to explain.

"Oh, never mind," Hank says. "Wu found it. I'll let you get back to it," he says with a snicker.

"Hank," Nick says. He's met with dead air as Hank disconnects. "Jerk," he mutters.

Adalind pats his arm consolingly before wrapping her hand around his forearm.

"Guess it's just you and me," she says. He glares at her and she grins and kisses his cheek impulsively. He eyes her stonily, his expression not fooling her in the least as he absently notes how beautiful she still is, how happy and content she seems as the wife of a mere homicide detective, and not any of the number of well-educated and successful men she could be with, including a bastard prince, or that fop she worked a case with not long ago. He loves her immensely, incredibly, given how they first came to know (and loathe) one another. He's desperate for another child with her, the extent of which is something that's taken both of them by surprise, though they've been trying for almost a year and he's getting the feeling that it's not going to happen for them. They're both getting to the end of their prime reproductive years, Nick fast approaching forty, and he's starting to resign himself to the fact that the two children they have is all they'll ever have.

It's still more than a lot of people, he reminds himself, thinking of Monroe and Rosalee.

"What?" she asks him, noting his expression has turned serious. He shakes his head. "You have a look on your face."

"Just thinking," he says.

"About?"

He shakes his head again. "Nothing. I'll tell you later," he says instead, hoping she'll forget about it. He's trying not to put pressure on her with his wanting another baby, but the truth is, though she was the more reluctant of the two, given his health issues after nearly dying from an altercation with a wesen suspect, they both want another child pretty badly.

Though, if he did have another one, that would likely mean another child enrolled here. More years of meetings and conferences to sit through. More of his hard-earned money spent on the ridiculous tuition here, however discounted Adalind claims it is.

More committees created and held by Valencia that Adalind, and by extension him, are roped into.

She presses a kiss against his temple, softer this time, and he slides her hand down and links his fingers through hers.

"Let's just get this over with," he says with a sigh. "You have a lot of atoning to do later on and I intend to take my sweet time and enjoy it."

She gives him another look and shakes her head.

"He is your son, too. You wanted to be involved in his life. I'm not atoning for anything."

Nick shakes his head.

"Challenge accepted."


End file.
